


Honey

by ceedee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shmoop, That's it, i haven't written fic in over 5 years and this goddamn fandom brought me back, shmoop and fluff, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceedee/pseuds/ceedee
Summary: No matter how much time he spends on the ice, Georgia breeds a specific sort of skin – the kind where cold just slips beneath and into his bones.Bitty needs the sun to recharge.





	

No matter how much time he spends on the ice, Georgia breeds a specific sort of skin – the kind where cold just slips beneath and into his bones.

As soon as mid-September hits Bitty wraps himself in layers and layers. He puts off storing away his summer wardrobe for as long as he can, preferring to keep his sandals right by the door, just in case. His tank tops stay in rotation because he can’t stand the thought that the warmth is gone for the next six to nine months. And then the Indian summer hits, every year without fail, and he find every excuse to lay out in the sun, letting his body soak up the natural heat while it lasts.

New England is lovely come fall, as the breeze picks up, the chill falls upon the hills. At first it’s hard to notice when his skin gets cold, or his fingertips begin to get a little numb. It isn’t until he’s back at the Haus, tapping away on Twitter, or sticking his hands in the oven to make sure the temperature gauge is just right that he feels the _burning-prickling_ sensation of feeling returning to his skin again – feeling he hadn’t even known was lost until it starts to warm once again. But there are knit sweaters and scarves and gloves and all manner of things that are cute and fashionable, and with so many layers, there are so many combinations – a near endless possibility.

Bitty needs the sun to recharge. Jack seems to be under the impression that Bitty is everything good, and sunshine, and well, _isn’t that a charming thought, you say such sweet things_. But sometimes it seems, that all things good and bright need a similar power source. Without the sun to warm his bones, Bitty…Bitty feels cold.

So come February, Valentine’s Day just around the corner and the sky’s been grey for weeks and weeks and the slush piles up in the doorway and no matter how much you wipe your feet on the welcome mat, the grit and the salt find themselves all over the entrance way. The oven runs on a near constant basis because everything is _just so cold_ that the only way to feel warm is a stream of baking, hot showers and blankets piled high on his side of the bed, wrapped up with Jack.

And Jack notices. That come February smiles are harder to come by. That even though Bitty has never been a morning person, there’s a certain slant to his shoulders – defeated almost as he crawls from under the mountain of blankets to grope around for the thick wool socks, and cable-knit sweater the Zimmerman’s gifted Bitty last Christmas. (They bought Jack and Bitty matching pairs.)

\--

Jack has always been a fixer. Even when he was young. Those who are closest to him have always known this. He just can’t help it – if someone he loves is hurting he feels compelled to make things better.

So Jack hears the defeated sighs as Bitty looks out the window at the freezing rain, and sees him as he sticks his hands under the faucet’s near-boiling water, and feels the shivers as they step out of the apartment to go grocery shopping. There are things that Jack does. He always makes sure that he preheats the car before Bitty goes off to work – double checks that his seat heater is turned on. He throws Bitty’s most likely outfit choices into the dryer, timed so that the cycle finishes just after he gets up in the mornings. When they are curled up on the couch, hunched over a laptop so Bitty can show him something _of the most importance_ that he missed on the internet-land, or catching up on Netflix, Jack curls his hands around Bitty’s extremities – his fingers, his toes, even his ears as they are perpetually cold in Winter. Bitty never notices until they start warming up again, so Jack has made it his goal to keep them warm for as long as he can.

And these things add up, and the smiles on Bitty’s face are easier, and not as strained. But the sun still doesn’t piece through the permanent cover of New England’s skies.

Jack is out at the market one day – a list of things Bitty’s been running low on in the kitchen in his hands. Bitty’s been trying to teach him a new recipe once a week. Jack is not entirely helpless in the kitchen, but he spends so much time watching the way Bitty handles his knives, or the way the veins in his forearms stand out as transfers the cast iron skillet from the burners to the oven. Jack focuses more on pressing soft kisses to the small burns and cuts Bitty accumulates as he accidentally bumps his hands against the inside of the oven, or scrapes his arm on the corner of a cabinet door.

Jack is at the market – standing in the middle of the bread and jam aisle, double checking that he has everything – going shelf by shelf. And that’s when a thought comes to Jack. The grocery store is advertising honey from one of the local apiaries. So Jack grabs a jar of some clover honey to surprise Bitty with.

When he gets home, Jack puts the groceries away but leaves the honey out on the counter. He finds Bitty’s stack of sticky notes, grabs a pen from the jar on the counter and writes out “enjoy the sunshine.” He glances at the clock on the oven and remembers he needs to be leaving soon for a meeting with George.

Two hours later, he’s pulling in the driveway, Bitty’s car parked in its usual spot in the garage. Jack walks into their apartment – careful to gently kick his boots against the doorframe, dislodging any lingering debris, to wipe his feet. His gloves are tucked into his coat pockets. He hangs it on the coat rack while his knit hat gets hung up on top of it.

There’s a pleasant aroma coming from the kitchen; he hears sizzling sounds and the scrape of a spoon in a pot. Bitty must already have started dinner – it smells like chicken roasting – something spicy and sweet. He carefully pads his way into the room, and is treated to the sight of Bitty dancing around the kitchen, the speakers playing out Bitty’s favorite top 40 stations. The jar of honey is still on the island, now a quarter gone.

His boyfriend’s hips sway back and forth, and before Jack even realizes it, he’s crossed the kitchen and is wrapping Bitty up in his arms, cold nose pressed against his neck. Bitty nearly jumps in laughter, continuing whisking at a pot of simmering sauce at the stove while tilting his head back so that Jack can kiss their lips together with more ease.

The kitchen is almost unbearably hot – the oven is going at full blast and since Jack wasn’t home, Bitty probably has the heat cranked up.

Jack is not meant for warm climes. He thinks about sunlight, and he begins to sweat.

Turning the burner down to a simmer, Bitty pivots on his feet, burying his face against Jack’s neck. Jack feels his lips moving, but he can’t hear what Bitty’s trying to say. So he takes a half step back, and looks down.

“Thank you.” Bitty is saying. “Thank you for the warmth and the heat and your sunshine, Jack.”

Jack thinks he can be all those things, and he doesn’t mind. He sees Bitty’s smile reach his ears and Jack starts to think about all the other ways that he can cause it again.


End file.
